Millie blinked, then smiled faintly. ‘Yes, I think so. I just keep getting these fragments of thoughts, as if from somewhere else. They glimmer for a moment, then slip away before I can grasp them.’ She looked at Greta with a quiet intensity. ‘They only started after you arrived.’
The back of Greta’s neck prickled. She wondered if Millie might be remembering things. Had she always lived here, or had shearrived,too? Lowering her voice so Jim wouldn’t overhear, she asked, ‘Do you ever get the feeling sometimes that things aren’t quite real? Like maybe we’re part of something bigger, or just playing a role?’
Millie’s lips twitched. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Sometimes . . . oh, I don’t know. I just feel like I’m following a script that’s been written for me.’
Millie plucked a daisy, twirling it slowly between her fingers. ‘Like you’re trying to fit into someone else’s story?’
‘Exactly.’ Greta shifted on the blanket. ‘You feel it, too?’
‘Lately, more and more.’ Millie glanced at Jefferson before continuing. ‘I’ve started to wonder if the choices I make are truly my own . . . or if I’m just playing the part of Millie that everyone here expects.’ She paused, then took out her compact, clutching it tightly. ‘Do you really think it’s possible to write your own destiny?’
Greta considered this for a moment. ‘It’s something I’ve been trying to do,’ she admitted with a wistful sigh. ‘Make my story my own.’
‘So, taking the script and flipping it?’
Greta let out a small laugh. ‘Or throwing it away completely.’
‘Hmm.’ Millie was about to open her compact, then paused. She slipped it back into her pocket instead. ‘Now, that sounds like something worth trying.’
Chapter 23
THE PICNIC STRETCHEDon. An unusual quietness descended across the group, as if some kind of rhythm had been broken. Greta and Millie’s conversation lingered between them, like a half-remembered shared dream.
‘More coffee, ladies?’ Jefferson said, lifting the Thermos. He looked at Millie with searching eyes, as if seeking her praise for his action.
Millie shot Greta a quiet look of frustration.
‘No, thank you,’ they said in unison.
The four adults politely ate sandwiches until Lottie suddenly jumped to her feet.
‘Hey, look at that,’ she said, pointing at the grass.
A squirrel had scurried toward them, twitching its tail while eyeing their food. It cocked its head and seemed to study Lottie.
‘Hello,’ she whispered, breaking off a piece of bread. She slipped off her shoes and padded toward it, holding out her offering.
The squirrel hesitated, then inched closer, taking the morsel between its tiny paws.
Lottie’s eyes shone, and she let out a delighted laugh. Taking a scrunchie from her pocket, she tied her hair into a messy ponytail then glanced around her. ‘I bet there are lots more animals in the park, maybe even deer. I think I’ll go and take a look.’
Jim patted the blanket beside him. ‘Hey, stay here and enjoy the picnic. The food is delicious, and you don’t want to get your clothes dirty.’
Lottie hesitated, her smile faltering.
Greta shook her head. ‘Oh, Jim. Don’t pin her down. Let her go and explore.’
Lottie’s eyes shifted between them. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ Greta said firmly. ‘And don’t worry about your skirt. You can always wash it afterward.’
Jim stared at Greta, as if seeing something unfamiliar in her. As Lottie wandered off barefoot, marvelling at the parakeets in the sky, Greta felt something unfurling inside her, a need to do something or go somewhere else. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk, too,’ she announced.
Instantly, Jim stood up. ‘That sounds nice. Let’s go.’
She reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘I’d like to go on my own. I need to escape all the coffee chat for a while.’
